


i want something that lasts forever

by amyscascadingtabs



Series: parts of the story [3]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Morning, Christmas Presents, Domestic Fluff, Engaged Couple, Established Relationship, F/M, Married Couple, One Shot Collection, POV Alternating, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Romantic Fluff, just all the christmas okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-12 00:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16862983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyscascadingtabs/pseuds/amyscascadingtabs
Summary: Jake, Amy, and a number of wildly different Decembers.





	1. december, 2013

**Author's Note:**

> MERRY CHRISTMAS and welcome to the Christmas fics, pal!
> 
> My original plan for this was to have a super rigid schedule of uploading every fourth day, but with my current stress levels, I can't really guarantee it. I will, however, do my best to get of all these written before the 25th!
> 
> (title from cold december night by michael bublé)

“So how are you celebrating Christmas?”

His fingers are tapping against the steering wheel, creating an incessant but uneven beat as soundtrack to their thus far uneventful three a.m. stakeout. Taylor Swift’s _Speak Now_ is stuck halfway inside the car’s cd player and won’t play, to Jake’s dismay and Amy’s elation, so it’s silence or finger-drumming.

Obviously he chose finger-drumming. It’s only one of his many talents.

Index finger, middle finger, ring finger. Tap, tap, tap.

“Christmas?”

“Yeah, Christmas.” She leans back in her seat, fidgeting with the plastic lid to the bright red takeaway cup which a little over two hours ago contained substandard coffee from a sketchy coffee shop slash sandwich bar they happened to drive past. “You know, the holiday that’s coming up in three days.”

“My mom’s Jewish, Santiago.”

“I know. I just thought - what do you do for Christmas? Any traditions? I’ve just - I never asked.”

“It depends”, he huffs, continuing the rhythmic tapping. “I have lunch with my mom, usually. Charles invites me every year, but Christmas celebrations with the Boyles takes a mental strength few non-Boyles can generate, so I’ve only been once. I’ve celebrated with Gina a bunch, too.”

“Gina’s going on a cruise this year”, Amy informs him, like he wasn’t already aware. (Fine, okay, he _wasn’t_ \- he only remembered Gina telling him the celebrations wouldn’t be happening this year - but Santiago doesn’t need to know that.)

“I know, which is why I’m planning to watch Die Hard and eat mayo-nut spoonsies for the whole evening.” He swallows the last of his now-cold coffee, throwing the cup in the plastic bag Amy insisted they use for trash as to, quote unquote, prevent the inside of the vehicle looking like a cross-breed between a garbage dump and the apartment of someone who collects empty Cheetos-bags for a profession. “It’s going to be _awesome_.”

“It sounds pretty tragic, honestly.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

 

There’s a sudden movement at the edge of the street, a person walking towards the exact building they’re watching, and he dives for the binoculars while Amy leans almost over him to see better. Someone halts outside the door, nothing but their silhouette visible at this distance, and he’s about to suggest they leave a car to get a closer look when the nearby malfunctioning street light blinks to life and reveals what appears to be an older lady walking her dog.

 

“This is bullshit”, Amy groans, snatching the binoculars from his grip. “Handoff was supposed to go down twenty minutes ago.”

“You eager to catch a criminal or something?” He grins, knowing all too well that she is - it’s less than a month left of their bet and he’s currently leading with three arrests. “Because I, for one, am _incredulously_ happy no criminal business is going down in our city. Shame on you, Santiago.”

She gives him a poisonous glare in response. “Ha. Ha.”

“I’m just saying, you better get ready for the worst date of your life. Get a sitter for your cats and whatnot.”

“I don’t have cats, Peralta.” She hands him the binoculars, reaching instead for her notepad and pen to make a note of the dog-walker, just to be sure. “I do have pet fish, though”, she mumbles with the lid in her mouth as she writes.

“Ouch. Lame.”

“Didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Consider it charity”, he retorts, and she rolls her eyes before popping the lid back on the pen and balancing it between her thumb and index finger. For someone who fidgets so much Rosa once claimed he may as well have _invented_ the word fidget, it’s a relief to Jake to see that Amy does it too. Sometimes it’s down to nerves and anxiety, other times it’s simple boredom. It’s oddly endearing to him.

If her competitiveness hadn’t annoyed him half to death every other workshift, if she’d been slightly less of a hopeless besserwisser and know-it-all and he’d seen her in anything but a tolerant, friendly light, he might have described her as pretty in this moment. The semi-darkness makes her features appear all the more intriguing somehow, shadow framing her cheeks and illumination from street lamps outside giving her eyes a distinctive shine, but she’s also in the state he finds her the most likable. Not quite hyper-focused and not quite in an anxious frazzle, but rather somewhere in between. In control yet relaxed. Up for a joke yet making sure they’re on track with their assigned tasks. She purses her lips, continues twirling the pen, and he looks away before her sharp detective-eyes inevitably catch him staring.

 

“What about you?”

“Huh?” Amy flinches, dropping the pen. “What about what?”

“How do you celebrate Christmas? I never asked about your plans, or whatever.”

“I celebrate with all of my family”, she says with a smile. “Parents, brothers, their families, uncles and aunts. Lots of amazing food, lots of spending time together, lots of everything.”

He can’t help but grimace. “Sounds disgusting.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, ignoring the professionality she so desperately seeks now when they’re not being watched. “What do you have against Christmas anyway? Because you don’t have to be such a scrooge about it. People just want to be happy.”

“Not a big fan of big family traditions, if you recall.”

“Maybe one day you’ll have your own family with traditions. And, you know, not hate every single joyous occasion.”

Jake snorts, adjusting the straps of his hoodie. “I doubt that.”

“Whatever. I was trying to be nice.”

“I know.”

They both go silent, and just as he starts considering abandoning his current clenching and unclenching of his fists to start tapping his fingers against the steering wheel once again, his phone lights up with a text message to inform him the release team is almost there and they’re allowed to finish their shift.

 

Twenty minutes later they’re back outside the precinct, ready to get in their own cars and drive home for the night. He’s just about to open the car door when he hears her shout his name.

“Yeah?” She jogs up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder to make him turn around.

“You know - you could celebrate with my family - if you’d want to? No one should be alone on Christmas”, she breathes, and she’s so close and there’s such a genuinity to the way she says it that for a split second, he considers taking her up on the offer.

It’s too much, though. He’s never met a single member of her family before, detests feeling like an intruder, considers Die Hard and mayo-nut spoonsies a near ideal Christmas tradition anyway.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay”, she shrugs, backing. “Well, I hope you have a good Christmas anyway, Peralta.”

 

Snowflakes begin to fall right as she’s walking away, white stars getting caught in the tips of her hair, making it glitter.

“Merry Christmas, Santiago”, he whispers, but she’s too far away to hear.


	2. december, 2014

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here goes part 2!

If Amy’d had to take a guess at what is currently going on in the break room judging from the noises coming from it, she’d say a drunken, heated, brawl. A criminal being given a thorough scolding, perhaps, or a one-man competition in who can come up with the most creative curse words. What she most definitely wouldn’t have guessed - or ever believed would be able to produce such an array of discouraged-by-department-policy words - is what she finds; Jake Peralta battling with a roll of shiny wrapping paper. 

It's quite amusing, really, seeing him so frazzled by simple craft products and a task so ordinary as gift-wrapping. He can’t have done this a lot before, she deduces from the repeated foul language he’s using, and if he has, it's not done him much good.

 

She watches him from the door frame for a good minute, an attempt to procrastinate getting her coffee and thereby further procrastinate going through the mind-numbing pile of company reports she’s going through for a case she's almost sure is cold anyway. His eyes are glued to the wrapping paper and box, cutting uneven pieces of paper with a pair of lazy scissors and coming up with all the more unique, distasteful word choices in his mission. A particularly creative string of curse words involving Scully’s butt cheeks and moldy yogurt parfaits is what gets her eventually. Bubbling laughter seeps out of her without control, making him look up at her.

“Amy!” Beads of sweat are pearling on his forehead and he’s somehow messed up his curls more than usual, adding to his appearance of looking like he just got out of a fight. He did, she supposes - a wrapping paper one.

“Need help there, Jake?”

He groans, letting go of the carton he’s trying to wrap and giving her an exhausted grimace. “Is it that obvious? Coffee’s fresh, by the way”, he mutters, gesturing to the pot. 

“Thanks. And yes, it is. You’re cursing like a sailor.” She moves to fill her coffee cup and add the milk, sipping the still steaming liquid as she sits down across from him. It burns her tongue, but much like any hard-working detective, she’s grown immune to that pain by now.

“Yeah, well, you got me. The box has defeated me. I mean, how hard could it be?” He throws up his hands in frustration. “They make it look so easy in the movies!” 

What he’s working with is some sort of nine-edged uneven plastic box filled to the brim with sour candy and, on top, a giftcard to a restaurant famous for its chicken wings. She recognizes it only because she gave him one to the same place for Secret Santa two years ago.

“Who buys a nine-edged gift box in the first place?”

“It's a realistic christmas tree”, he explains, turning it so she can see the odd shape. “I thought it was funny. Sophia’s going to love it.”

 

_ Sophia.  _

“I’m sure she will”, she tells him quickly, focusing on an abandoned pair of scissors in the knowledge that actually meeting his eyes would make something inside of her explode.

 

She should have guessed, yet it still feels like another well-aimed punch in the stomach. There’s a hole the size of a pit in her chest and her heart is being sucked in while it remains stinging, and all the while she sits there, clutching the cup in her hands and forcing the smile on her lips to stay there.

He’s been shockingly mature since the reveal at Maple Drip Inn. To her great surprise, he’s resorted to teasing her about  _ possibly  _ having had romantic thoughts about him once or twice no more than a handful of times. There’s only been the particular day where he’s been too lazy to get off his own ass for more coffee or a case file when she’s been in the vicinity and he’s used it to his advantage - a pair of pleading puppy eyes followed by a remark about the importance of helping out the people one has, directly quoted, once held a passionate, undying love for.

(“I’ve never said either of those words”, she wheezes whenever it happens, and then she tells him to go get his case file himself.)

She knows she should be grateful for the maturity and happy they can be courteous and civil with each other, but for some reason it makes it all feel worse. She doesn’t have Teddy anymore, meaning there’s noone there to help her pretend, and Jake is  _ happy _ . It’s pure-bred irony. Amy doesn’t crush or yearn or pine and she’s definitely never had the odd weird dream about her loyal work partner from which she’s woken up devastated due to its falsity, yet seeing Jake and Sophia together or even hearing about them just won’t stop bringing forth that persistent sting in her chest.

 

“I really hope she will. Now, if I could just figure out a way to wrap it…”

“I could help you.” 

_ No _ , screams the irrational part of her brain she fights day and night to ignore.  _ Yes _ , screams the rational one.  _ Be normal. Make it normal.  _

“Really? That’d be amazing.” He draws a breath of relief and she has to look up at him, being met by a grateful smile which sends her heart flickering again. It’s a smile, it’s neither special nor unique - even Rosa smiles sometimes, as Amy got picture proof of last year - but his always manages to appear genuine in a way she’s never seen in someone else. He’s goofy, allover immature at times, but at least he doesn't fake it. She tells herself it's the genuinity in the smile that gets her and nothing else.

“Sure. Santiagos are great gift wrappers, this will be done in no time.” She grabs the box, wrapping paper roll, scissors and tape. “It's not that difficult.”

“Speak for yourself.”

She snorts and gets to work on the challenge in front of her. Sure, it's not the most practical of shapes to wrap, but it's far from the insurmountable task Jake was painting it to be.

“For Sophia, huh?”

“What about her?” He’s watching with fascination as she works, unable to tear his eyes away.

“You’re celebrating Christmas together?”

“No, no, she's celebrating with her family. We're exchanging gifts a couple days before.” He fakes a shudder. “Like a serious relationship. Crazy.”

“It’s not that crazy”, she tells both him and herself at the same time. “I think it’s sweet.”

“Yeah”, he threads. “I guess it kind of is.”

It would be so easy for him to joke about her supposingly undying love for him now, trying to make her flustered, but he doesn’t. It’s as if talking about Sophia makes him serious, or at the very least makes him try to be.

Amy swats the thought of  _ is this what he’d be like if we were a thing  _ away. It’s eleven p.m., she’s simply tired and struggling to adjust to single life again. She’s not  _ actually _ jealous of Sofia or yearning for Jake, no matter how many oddly specific dreams her subconscious throws at her.

“Amy? You listening there?” His hand waves in front of her face.

“Uh-huh? Sorry.”

“I was asking if you’re looking forward to Christmas with your family.”

“Yeah. Yeah… I guess.” She cuts a bit of string and ties a bow around the finished result. “There.”

“Yes! You’re amazing!” He bounces off his seat and before she knows it he’s wrapped her in a tight hug. “You’re my Christmas savior.”   
“Because I helped you wrap one gift?”

“Saving. Christmas”, he enunciates. 

She allows herself to relax in his arms, trying not to think about the comfortable pressure of his arms or how close their heads are to each other.

It's so natural. Too natural, maybe. 

“It’s nothing”, she mumbles as he finally lets go. “I’m sorry - I have to get home.”

“Yeah, of course. Merry Christmas, Amy.”

“Merry Christmas, Jake.”  _ Deep breaths.  _ “Tell Sophia I said hi.”   
There’s that genuine smile again, mending her heart just to break it again, and she leaves before he can say anything. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all. the. PINING. poor amy.  
> I've actually never written pining amy before so I hope I did her justice. that look she gives him in the end of the road trip when they're driving home together is full of so much emotion and it gets me eeevery time. 
> 
> aiming to have next chapter out by the 12th of december and by then they'll be together! woo!


	3. december, 2015

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 3! they're together now so get ready for all the established christmas fluff <3

“Are you sure you haven’t forgotten anyone, Ames?” Jake makes an effort to count the number of names on the list, but gives up halfway. “I swear you have like a billion nieces and nephews.”

She snatches the list from his hands without showing a trace of remorse. “I have nine and counting. Not a billion.”

“Eh.” He shrugs. “That’s practically the same in my book.” 

“That’s just because you can’t count, babe”, she reminds him. “One day you won’t make fun of me for going to all those math camps.”

“False, I will always make fun of you for math camp.”

She gives him the glare he’s seen a hundred or so times before, but he notes the hint of a smile on her lip gloss-painted lips. 

“We need to get started. I have so many children's books to buy.” Her hand links with his to practically pull him towards the stairs in Barnes and Noble. He’s already out of breath from her hasty pace after having struggled to keep up with her eager steps all the way from the subway station to here; blatantly refusing to run or even jog when not on the job is a principle Jake has stuck to since graduating the academy, and yet she makes him break it. 

She’s cute when she’s excited, anyway. 

“I still can’t wrap my head around why you’re buying  _ books _ for them all”, he says when she reaches the section she’s looking for and he finds an unguarded kid-sized armchair to sink down in. Due to its miniature size, he’s technically sitting more on top of the chair than in it, but he’s not picky. “Don’t kids just want obnoxious blinking toys?”

“Actually, reading books to children helps stimulate their imagination and expand their understanding of the world. It’s very beneficial.” Her fingers dance over the multi-colored backs in the shelf she’s led him to. He imagines her absorbing the words and meaning of the works as she goes, as if she’s getting a sense of what every book is about simply through a fleeting moment of physical contact with them. If anyone could do that with a book, he assumes it’d be Amy. “I always look up reviews to see which new releases are recommended, or I buy them classics. I’m buying Julia the first Harry Potter this year.”

“You know there’s movies for them, right? They’re a thing.”

“If you as much as once seriously call the Harry Potter movies preferable over the books, I’ll break up with you.” Her focus doesn’t stray from the shelves as she delivers the threat with an unfazed tone. “You just haven’t read them yet. You should give them a chance.”

“I’ll read them when you get through an entire Die Hard movie without falling asleep.”

“We’ve been  _ over this _ \- I’d had a long day at work - hah!” She pulls out a book with a shining green cover. “This is the one I was looking for. One out of nine!”

“We have to find  _ nine _ books before we can have food?” It's possible that realization should have come to him earlier, but it’s only now when finding one book has proved to take three minutes and his stomach is rumbling that he’s fully comprehending the calamity. After they’ve found the books they’re gonna need to stand in line. After the line they’re both going to have to find a restaurant and wait for the food. “That’s it. I’m going to help you. Give me half of that list, babe.”

 

He’s never felt at home in a bookstore, not in the way his girlfriend looks to be as she travels around the different sections appearing so natural a part of the environment she might as well be working there, but once he figures out the shelving system it's easy. He retrieves the four books on his half of the list in no more than ten minutes, even finding one to gift to his month old goddaughter mostly because he believes it’d impress Terry. Judging from the appreciative look Amy gives him when she sees his pick, it impresses her too.

 

He draws a breath of relief once all their purchases are paid for and he's agreed to let Amy wrap his gift for Ava instead of letting the store do it. This means their errands are done and they can finally go for food -

“Jake! Look!”

Or not.

His girlfriend has gained sight of the display of the just released illustrated versions of the first Harry Potter novel standing near the entrance, and she's beaming like a child on Christmas morning as she grabs one and carefully starts flipping through the pages, letting out little gasps for every new illustration.

“It's so beautiful”, he hears her whisper, seemingly on the verge of tearing up. “I have to buy it.”

“But you already got all the gifts for your nieces and nephews?” He demonstratively lifts the three heavy plastic bags she’s made him carry.

Amy gives him a look as if he's fully and truly lunatic. “I'm buying it for myself. Duh.”

“Wait - does this mean we have to stand in that queue again - _ nooo _ …” She's already off to pay for the item. Jake massages his temples for a good thirty seconds before he gives in and follows after.

 

His stomach is rumbling yet more intensely than before after battling the boredom of standing in a - now longer - line for twenty more minutes. A cookbook on different ways to make oatmeal catches his eye and reminds him he’s not had breakfast, which he figures must be the cause for the hunger. 

Weirdly enough, dating Amy Santiago has come with side effects such as him actually ingesting something edible for the meal. Even weirder is how his body seems to have gotten used to it. A year ago, these domestic changes in a relationship would have made him embarrassed, but now they’re plainly  yet another part of how she is weaved into the web of his life, a glowing, fervent thread emitting golden sparks of this sensation he can’t define but never wants to lose.

 

She demands they stop to look at Christmas decorations on their way to the diner. He considers protesting, but she pouts her lip at him for a second and he accepts, walking hand in hand with her along the lit-up shopping street to watch the embellished windows and string lights hanging between buildings. They stop in front of a particularly colorful display, observing the beauty for a few quiet seconds, and she leans her head against his chest. 

“Merry Christmas, Jake.”

He has to spin her around so he can reach to kiss her properly. “Merry Christmas, Ames.”

 

Jake may just have spent longer in a bookstore than ever before his life, he’s not eaten in what feels like forever and it’s way too cold outside for the hoodie and leather jacket-combo he refuses to let go of even in December, but in the end he gets to date Amy Santiago. He considers that fact alone to be the best gift he could ever ask for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in Halloween IV, Amy mentions Jake having pizza for breakfast, and it made me imagine him reluctantly getting up with her for breakfast just to get to spend some extra time with her some days and it becoming a habit. I'm lame, I know.
> 
> also, Harry Potter nerd Amy is the love of my life.  
> next chapter will be up on the 16th! ❤︎


	4. december, 2016

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here goes year number four! not sure how christmassy this is but at least it's fluffy.

“Okay, so, first of all - one could argue John McClane learns the spirit of Christmas”, Jake lists reading from his phone. He's sitting in a cross-legged position on the bedroom floor, supposedly assisting Amy with arranging their now shared closet, though  for the last five minutes it's been a lot less arranging and a lot more arguing why Die Hard is a Christmas movie. “You have to sacrifice for your family.”

“Far-fetched.”

“The scene where he's coming down the elevator shaft could represent being stuck in a chimney?”

“Hmm.”

He tilts his head, making an attempt at puppy eyes which only makes her snort-laugh. “His wife is named Holly?”

“Jake, it doesn’t matter how many arguments you steal from the internet.” She shakes her head, putting yet another blue plaid shirt on the IKEA hanger and hanging it in his newly acquired half of the wardrobe. “Die Hard is an action movie, not a Christmas movie, and we said Christmas movies and popcorn for our first movie night living together.”

“True, true”, he admits. “But consider this - I really want to watch Die Hard.”

“Babe, you _always_ really want to watch Die Hard.”

“Also true.” He runs his fingers through the unusually neat hair and leans back against the wall. “I’ll come up with a better argument. Just tired after today.”

 

After the day they’ve had, Amy figures their mutual exhaustion is justified. They were up at six to drink coffee and eat a quick breakfast before finishing packing the last of his belongings into cardboard boxes. After packing, they had help by Terry to carry the last pieces of Jake’s furniture to a moving truck in order for them to find their new temporary home at a second-hand store. The remaining massage chair and the infamous, just turned one year old, mattress got crammed into Amy’s car. After carrying them into the elevator and to their new assigned spots in the apartment, they handed Jake’s old key back to Gina and got to work on unpacking boxes. Granted, there’s been a few breaks for necessities such as pizza and orange soda for lunch, and Amy may have given into her boyfriend’s suggestion of investigating whether her kitchen counters were equally good for sex now when they were also his (they were), but overall she would still place their productivity level rather high on the scale today. Once they’re finished with arranging the closet, they’ll officially have moved in together. Just a few shirts more and she’s done.

 

“You really own a ridiculous amount of plaid”, she remarks as she hangs up what must be at least number twenty. “You sure you need _all_ of these?”

“They’re part of my iconic fashion style.” He gasps, his eyes widening for a moment. “Don’t tell me you don’t like my flannels!”

“You know I love your flannels! I’m just saying, there are a lot of them.”

“I can throw some out if it’d make you happy”, he promises, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. “Just say the word.”

She can’t help but smile at his offer, bending down to give him a quick peck to the lips. “Maybe another day. We’re almost done with this.”

“And then we watch Die Hard.”

“You’re still just stealing the arguments from the internet, babe. Come up with something original and I’ll consider it.”

“Fine, challenge accepted.” He pockets his phone with a grin. “Let’s see. Die Hard for me means… being home. Chilling on the couch after an exhausting day with the best movie made in the entire Universe.” Amy rolls her eyes, but lets him continue. “So watching it here with you tonight would mean that this is my home now. Make it official, you know?”

 

She’s not sure what it is - the actual segment of a decent personal argument in his story, the ever so smug but equally adorable look on his face as he delivers it, or simply sheer unadulterated excitement over the fact that she's now living together with Jake Peralta - but it makes her let go of the second to last flannel and press her lips to his without warning. She cups his face, kisses him until they're both breathless, laughs against his lips when the movements take a temporary break. She feels him smiling against hers and it makes her own smile wider as a direct consequence, her entire body reacting to the safe haven and excellence that is kissing her partner, boyfriend and now cohabitant.

 

“What was that for?” He asks, still a little out of breath, when she retreats to finish the work.

“Nothing.” She blushes. “Just - you were being really cute.”

“Oh.” He doesn't answer directly, the initial confounded expression on his face changing gradually into one of pride. “I am very cute, that's true.”

“Ever heard of humility?”

“Never needed it. So does the kiss mean I win the argument? We watch Die Hard?”

“Fine”, she relents. “But I draw the line at calling it a Christmas movie!”

“It’s literally set on Christmas Eve!”

“It’s still an action movie! It’s got no Christmas-y themes!”

“Hey! I’m the one who gave up my apartment.” Jake gives her a meaning look before standing up and placing a chaste kiss to her lips.

“You did”, she admits with reluctance, placing her arms around his chest to draw him closer. “Welcome home, babe.”

“Thanks.” He’s trailing kisses along her neck and throat, the air against her skin tickling as he speaks. “Hope you’re ready to see this cuteness _every day_.”

 

Technically, it shouldn’t make too much of a difference to Amy. They have been colleagues and partners with their desks placed across from each other for six years. They dated for almost a year before Florida, spent six torturous months apart before reuniting and have spent merely a handful of nights apart since then. She’s grown so accustomed to his presence near her she struggles to fall asleep without his body warmth in the same bed, finds the kitchen empty in the mornings he’s not sitting on the counter inhaling coffee from _her_ espresso machine, yet the thought of _every day_ is enough to start a Fourth of July-style firework display in her chest.

 

“I think I’ll live”, she tells him. “You want to break in the mattress in its new bed now?”

His eyes sparkle. “Then Die Hard.”

A nagging feeling of _what have I done_ flashes before her eyes, but disappears post-haste when she sees the familiar over-excited grin.

“Fine, then Die Hard.”

 

A little over an hour later, when they've eaten their takeout and taken their positions on the couch in front of the action classic, she's bone-tired from the day they've had but happier than ever.

_Every day._

 

Being a realist through and through and working in the both risky and unique field they do, she suspects there’ll be exceptions, but for all the days the Universe will allow it, she will spend her days with him.

His hand resting on her thigh, his legs tangled with hers, his shoulder as the best pillow and him feeding her popcorn as they watch.

It's domestic and genuine and comfortable in all ways imaginable, reducing her fear of the seemingly definite words to microscopical size.

 

She'll draw the line at calling Die Hard a Christmas movie, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next one will be up on the 20th!


	5. december, 2017

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost forgot about this holy heck I'm so sorry it's been A DAY. those bloopers and promos, huh?? Anyways, hope you enjoy the second to last chapter!

To quote his improvised yet according to himself eminent proposal speech, Jake loves how smart his fiancée is.

That's not to say there aren't certain ideas of hers he finds more questionable. The day she decided they should try roller-skating as a fun date activity, for example, and ended up with a sprained ankle as a result. The time she brought him to a play, an occasion he boasts about surviving any time she's not in earshot, is another example.

They haven't even started the construction, and he's already preparing to add  _ building a gingerbread house _ to the list. Neither of them are exactly geniuses in the kitchen. Building stuff has never been his strong suit. He’s never done anything of this style before, but Amy found a Pinterest entry on her phone while lazily scrolling in bed this morning and so here they are, all because her enthusiastic beam when she showed it to him was too infectious for him to decline.

 

To be fair, they haven’t failed miserably just yet, although he suspects this might be because they’re still at the step of rolling out the pre-made, store-bought dough on the flour-covered countertops. 

“So what’s the deal about this house?” Jake has armed himself with a table knife while Amy pulls up the instructions on her computer for the next step. “Is it gonna be just a regular house, or can we make like, a rocketship? The precinct? Nakatomi Plaza?”

She snorts. “Yeah, like we’re anywhere near that level yet. We’re doing a regular house. And then decorating it.”

“We’re going to fail so hard at this.”

“Nope, you just don’t believe in us enough. Here, you’re cutting out the side walls.” She hands him a white piece of paper, already printed and neatly cut out by her while he struggled with the dough. “Get to work.”

“I’m warning you, Santiago, this house will not be beautiful.”

“Not with that attitude it won’t”, she states simply, getting to work on cutting out front and back walls. “But we can do it! Everything we need to accomplish our goals is already inside us!”

He scrunches his nose, looking up at his determined fiancée. “What?”

“Too much? I’m trying this new positive encouragement-thing to prepare for being a sergeant. Since, you know, I might become one next year.”

“Yeah you are!” His hands are sticky from flour and dough, but he still takes the chance to high-five her. “The positive encouragements might be a little bit too cheesy still, though.”

She grimaces. “I’ll work on them.”

 

It seems like a lifetime ago to him now, the day he found her on that Barton Street rooftop and convinced her to go write the exam. Everything before prison is an eternity ago and everything after seems an undefinable, whirly hubbub which moves between having lasted for decades on the good days and minutes on the bad, yet somehow for everyone else time has passed in the same way as always. Amy’s going to be a sergeant next year. They’re going to get married next year - the ring on her left fourth finger keeps reminding him of that salient fact. Most notably, he’s decided they’re not going to be apart next year. He’s had enough of leaving Amy Santiago to last him infinity.

She’s biting her lip as she cuts out the pieces of the house with meticulous care, leaning close to the knife and focusing her gaze intently on the task in front of her. Even though it’s supposed to be their day off, a day for them to relax and spend their time on things less effortful than their demanding jobs, she tends to find them a project like this in the end. Neither of them deal well with restlessness from the beginning, but he knows part of her is secretly doing it to distract him from the post-traumatic symptoms resting with him after prison still. She denies it when he asks, attempting to act like it’s all part of their normal routine, but he understands why. 

He’s perennially grateful for it.

 

“We should make this a tradition”, Amy suggests when they finally succeed in the feat of transferring the different parts of the house to an oven tray. Sure, it takes them a few tries and several attempts at cutting out certain pieces anew, but they get there. “Work our way up to cooler buildings, year by year.”

He stops chewing the leftover dough. “We have traditions now?” 

“We’re engaged, right? Now’s the time to make them.”

“Damn straight. Just a question - can Die Hard be part of these traditions?”

She shakes her head, making the messy ponytail sway with her movements. “I’m not having that discussion with you again.”

“Eh, it was worth a try.”

“Sure, Pineapples.” She stands on her toes to reach him where he’s sat on the counter, briefly pressing her lips to his. “I’m just glad to have you home at all this Christmas”, she confesses before climbing up on the counter next to him.

“You thought I wouldn’t be home?”

“Did you think you would?”

He knows the answer, thought about it during all the nights on the comfortless excuse of a mattress he spent listening to Caleb’s snoring and contemplating every miniscule detail of his life rather than sleeping, but it stings to admit. He resorts to shaking his head.

“Exactly.” They’re both dangling their legs like little kids, trying to match each other’s pace. “When you and Rosa first… when you got there, Captain Holt promised me we’d get you out before Christmas.”

“Did you believe him?”

She bites her lip. “There were times when I didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“Ah.”

 

He had wondered, too. Always at night, usually after one of the days where he’d missed her, missed Charles, missed his  _ life _ more than the already sky-high average. He’d felt awful about missing her birthday and had thought instantly about Christmas; about gift shopping and looking at the themed displays in store windows, about visiting the Santiagos with her, waking up to her on Christmas morning and needing nothing else as a gift. He’d even dreamed of them getting a tree to decorate together, screw the impracticality and priciness of it, if only because it would be the ultimate opposite of any way he could have celebrated the occasion while incarcerated.

 

She must see him drifting away in thoughts, because she takes both of his hands in hers before resting her head on his shoulder, a wordless but unambiguous reminder of her presence. He lets his thumb run over the stones of the engagement ring a few times, bringing himself back to reality.

“At least I’m home now”, he mumbles, mouth pressed to the top of her head. “Wait - babe - am I imagining it, or is there a burnt smell coming from the oven?”

“ _ Fuck _ !”

 

Jake would have suspected the burning of every single house part to the point where they were all unusable to be the end of the gingerbread house project, but two hours later, they’re actually looking at a finished result.

It’s wry and misshaped and he’s fairly certain a group of five-year-olds could have created a more artistic version of their house, but after drenching their creation in all the frosting, sprinkles and sour candy they could find in the store, it is at the very least a colorful creation.

“So what do we now?” After this many hours in the kitchen, he’s both sweaty and exhausted and repulsed by the thought of more baking.

“Hmm.” Amy gives their final result a mistrustful look. “I mean, we  _ could  _ have it on display until Christmas.”

“Or we could just eat it now.”

She looks at him as if she’s about to protest, but then shakes her head and shrugs. “Yeah, let’s just eat it.”

 

Dinner that night is hot chocolate and pieces of a broken gingerbread house with outrageous amounts of sugary decorations. It’s a million miles away from prison - for once in Jake’s life post South Carolina, both on a mental and physical level.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last one will be up on Christmas Eve ❤︎


	6. december, 2018

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and here goes the last bit!

Amy Santiago wakes up before the sunrise from the sound of someone screaming.

Any regular day in her Brooklyn apartment, she would have found this a deeply unsettling way to wake up, but with every single member of the Santiago family crammed into a cabin upstate for Christmas celebrations, it’s pretty standard-issue. At least no one is screaming into her ear this time - she had that sweet little experience yesterday morning when Mason decided to terrorize his innocently sleeping aunt. These wailing screams, making their way through the thin walls from her brother Christian’s family’s bedroom where her seven month old niece is clearly upset, are at least more manageable than yesterday’s.

She still would have preferred the absence of them, though. A proper sleep-in now would be the cherry on top, the only thing missing from her wintry little Christmas paradise, but her phone shows 6.16 a.m. and she can't ignore the noise. Worst of all, Jake is somehow successfully sleeping his way through it.

 

He’s sleeping almost facedown on his pillow, only part of his face turned against her. It’s no surprise to her that he’s still asleep, having worked almost day and night on a homicide-case he solved mere hours before they had to leave, but  _ she’s _ awake and being awake without him is boring, plain and simple. 

She makes the best out of the situation. Scooting her body closer to him, she manages to tangle her legs together with his and press her face to the spot on his shoulder where his t-shirt has slid away, stealing his warmth and breathing him in at the same time. He huffs in his sleep, probably noticing how cold her feet are next to his, and there’s a hot second of guilt for her before he yawns, shifting his body to move impossibly closer to her anyway. 

Amy’s never been a particularly tactile person, never really understood how you could crave the sensation of another person so close to you that intensely. Not that cuddling or sleeping next to someone  _ bothered _ her, because it didn’t, but she never craved it before Jake. Then there was a brief moment of accidental snuggling post their first time sleeping together and it all clicked. Now she feels like something’s wrong whenever she’s not spooning or - if she’s lucky - being spooned by him before falling asleep at night. 

She’s too blind without her glasses and proper lightning to see, but she’s observed him enough times to know the curls near his forehead are waving with his exhales, lifting and falling back in sync with his breathing. He’s asked her several times what she thinks of them, if they’re good to stay or if they need to go, and she’s not changed her answer once. There’s a bit of a childish touch to them, sure, but they add to a playfulness she already adores enough to have married him for and now, combing her fingers through them, she wouldn’t dream of asking him to cut them. They make him look innocent, and perhaps it’s ridiculous, but after the traumatic events of last year, innocence and happiness is a good look on him - one which fits much better with their life now. 

As if to emphasize that very thought, she notes a blurry smile forming on his lips. She kisses him, expecting him to continue sleeping, but is surprised by him kissing her back, languidly and lovingly for it being six in the morning.

“You awake?” She whispers the question, receiving a slow nod in return and a hand reaching to cup her cheek.

“S’already morning?”

“It’s about six”, she answers, reaching for her glasses. “Stella was crying. It woke me up. You slept through it.”

He laughs, grinning despite the early hour. “Practicing for parenthood already?”

She rolls her eyes. “A, it was loud and their room is close to ours. B, when we have our own kids, I will  _ force _ you to get up with them as soon as it’s possible so I can sleep. So no.”

“When”, he repeats, smiling.

“When”, she confirms, hugging him closer.

“Next year?”

“It can take some time, Jake. We shouldn’t be getting our hopes up too much.”

“Nah.” He shakes his head. “You’re a Santiago, and since I married you, that means I’m one too. I’m betting before next Christmas”, he declares, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Peralta-guarantee.”

“You’re a dork”, she tells him, though inside she’s picturing the same thing - their own little family at Christmas morning, opening gifts for someone too small to understand what’s happening but too enchanted by colorful wrapping paper and string to care, another “Baby’s First Christmas”-ornament hanging next to the already numerous ones for all Santiago grandchildren when celebrating with her family.

“You married that dork”, he reminds her. “Merry Christmas, wife.”

“Merry Christmas, husband.” 

“Such a good word. One question - how long do you think we can get away with relaxing in bed for before it’s time for breakfast?”

“Let’s just say I don’t think there’s a point to you trying to fall asleep again.”

 

They join the crowded breakfast table at precisely 7.30 a.m., enjoying coffee and perfectly made American pancakes over the boisterous soundtrack of the whole extended Santiago clan chattering with each other. It’s loud and lively and exactly like it’s always been - only now she has the love of her life next to her. 

Yeah, she could do this for many more Christmases. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> merry christmas! ❤︎ thank you so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> All I want for Christmas is you(r kudos and comments if you enjoyed it)! I'm amyscascadingtabs on tumblr as well if you wanna chat or leave other Christmas-related prompts. These six are all planned out already, but other things could always pop up in my one shot collections!


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